Harry Potter and the Dragon's Treasure
by Alatar Maia
Summary: For as long as Harry can remember, he's had dreams of a strange world, and one person in particular seems to be their focus. Before he can finally have a decent summer with his friends, he's whisked away to - literally - the land in his dreams. If he can get home, will he want to? Or will he abandon his old friends in favor of new ones? Not a romance. Temporary Hiatus.
1. Prologue

**I'm back! And I bring a brand new story! This one is really my pet project- it was never intended to be a crossover, or fanfiction at all, but really I'm combining the HP universe with the one I invented for my ongoing novel. Mainly, this is for me to get feedback and really start sorting out the story, seeing what people think and all that. So please, reviews would make this so much better! I have no idea how long this is going to be and I have no idea where it may go but if you'd all like to accompany me on this adventure it would make it all so much better.**

***Pirates of the Carribean theme plays in the background* Onward, my fellow writers!**

**I don't own Harry Potter or any elements of the series, but everything else is indeed mine.**

* * *

A swarthy girl tumbled to the ground, ducking her head and wrapping her arms around said body part in an attempt to protect it from the chunks of stone and rubble raining down-a head wound was the last thing she needed right now. Rolling to her feet and leaping out of the wreckage, she landed lightly on feet in worn boots and skidded slightly, using her staff to bring herself spinning around the corner and into a nearby alleyway.

The city-state of Nazareth was one of the biggest on the continent, small as it was. Neat stone passageways and gilded rooftops were only some of the obvious signs that the city was a wealthy trading state.

Their reputation, at the moment, was taking a beating.

Jealous raiders from Merade, the fearsome Ice Kingdom, had come down from the north across the Straits and set upon the city. It was Ciaran's unfortunate luck that landed her in Nazareth when the attack began.

What had once been a proud place, with tall sturdy walls and huge buildings was now a mess of rubble and frightened citizens, running either out of the city or for their things or children. Ciaran's only worry was for herself, as long ago she'd adopted the habit of carrying everything around in the leather pack she wore. Her staff intimidated people out of her way, no one sure what level of magic she was at and none willing to incur her anger should she turn out to be a noble.

A fresh explosion was far away enough that it send only dust down on Ciaran's head, but she could still see the spikes of ice crackling out and freezing through a hole in the wall of the building next to her. Merade, unfortunately, employed several accomplished alchemists who were barely challenged by the idea of making something explode with ice instead of fire.

Ciaran practically tripped over the girl before she saw her.

Hitting the ground and scraping open parts of her jacket, Ciaran turned and saw someone sprawled on the ground. Well, that explained why she'd tripped over her. She was about to leave when she noticed that the girl was unconscious.

It took a moment of deliberation for Ciaran to drop and start shaking her. "Hey, wake up!" She sent a brief jolt of magic into the girl, which luckily worked.

"What?" She bolted upright, panicked gaze taking in the wreckage.

Ciaran dragged her to her feet and made a split-second decision. "Come on!" She dragged the girl behind her, heedless of questions.

"Where are we going?" Okay, maybe she could answer that one. Ciaran spied the perfect route out through some ruin.

"To the boats!" She leaped onto the rubble, nimbly making onto a neighboring roof and thrusting her staff behind her, murmuring the words to a spell of balance to help the girl she'd rescued.

"What-"

"They're evacuating, the protocol is that they send as many people as possible to Forlost if they're attacked!" Forlost was a country barely three miles away, across a channel of water from Nazareth. "And if you don't _hurry up_ we won't make it!"

Admittedly, the girl did well, for someone enchanted with balance. The temporary duo hopped across rooftops, Ciaran occasionally shouting and ducking to avoid projectiles, but for the most part the Meradiana hadn't yet broken through to this part of the city.

The port was a clamor of noise, and they had to drop onto the paths and navigate the crowds to make it to the ships. The girl looked like she might start crying. "My parents- I was on vacation-!"

Ciaran felt a pang of remorse. "I'm sorry, but we haven't got time!" Already one ship was launching, people desperately jumping to try and make it on, most falling into the ocean. The majority of the ships were still in their docks, fearful deckhands and port boys running around with ropes and knives, doing whatever they could to get it free.

"JUMP!" The closest ship to them was about to leave, but there was a ladder hanging from the side that no one had noticed yet. Ciaran made another fast descision and whirled around, seizing the girl around her shoulders and under her knees.

"What are you-" Ciaran heaved, throwing the girl as far as she could, watching in a panic as she hit the side of the ship and scrabbled at it, managing to seize the ladder, a scream leaving her mouth. She glanced back across, and Ciaran met her gaze, still on the docks.

The girl's expression was both scared and grateful, and she watched with wide eyes as Ciaran spoke words under her breath, spinning her staff and aiming carefully-

And so far away that it is nearly impossible to comprehend, farther than anyone could possibly imagine or even find a good metaphor for, a boy named Harry Potter bolted awake in his cupboard, panting for breath and wondering where the strange dream had come from.


	2. The Letter

**Hello and welcome to Chapter One! Warning- quite a bit of this chapter is paraphrased from the actual book, because I didn't want to deviate too far from canon. Yet. But I hope you enjoy it anyway. Last chapter was mainly me, this chapter is mainly Harry Potter. I'm trying to get about an even amount of both, but later on this story will take place primarily in the universe of my own creation. For any of you who dislike that, you should probably get off here.  
**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter, all rights to JK Rowling.**

* * *

Chapter One- The Letter

Harry Potter's birthday had, once again, been ignored by his relatives.

It's not as though he was expecting anything from them-on the contrary, it had long ago become regular for no one to mention it. It also meant to Harry that if his friends sent him anything, he wouldn't have to share it with Dudley, much less share the cakes that he'd been sent.

The food in particular was a blessing, since when Dudley had been forced to go on a diet over the summer Aunt Petunia had decided to make everyone else follow it as well. Harry just wanted to get the summer over with, since it was turning out to be one of the worst he'd ever had at Privet Drive. Not to mention the strange dream he'd had last night, with the dead Muggle and Wormtail in it. He shuddered just thinking about it-Harry had woken up with shooting pains in his scar, and hadn't been able to forget the dream yet.

Uncle Vernon had stomped out to answer the door, and he came back into the kitchen now looking furious.

"So," he snarled at Harry. "This has just arrived. About _you_." He brandished a letter at Harry.

Harry was nonplussed. Who would be writing to his uncle about him? Then he took notice of how many stamps had been stuck to the front of the envelope, and he suddenly understood. Someone from the Wizarding World must have sent him a letter through Muggle post, for whatever reason.

"Shall we see what's in it?" Uncle Vernon said nastily, hands poised to rip open the envelope.

"You don't want to do that!" Harry said quickly, making it up as he went. "Wiz- my kind of letters have got all sorts of protections on them. It's to make sure they get to the right person. I don't know what happens if someone else opens it, but it's not anything good."

Uncle Vernon froze in the act, seemingly torn between opening it anyway and testing whether he'd been lying or actually giving Harry something he wanted. The disgust at holding something enchanted won out, and he threw the letter onto the table. Harry snatched it up and stood up, hurrying to his room before his uncle could change his mind and leaving his breakfast -a quarter of grapefruit-untouched.

As soon as the door of his room closed behind him, Harry ripped the letter open. It was from Mrs. Weasley, strangely enough, and not Ron.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,_

_We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron._

_As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports._

_I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are incredibly hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely on the train back to school._

_It would be best for Harry to send your answer as quickly as possible through the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is._

_Hoping to see Harry soon,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Molly Weasley_

_P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on._

Well, there certainly were enough stamps, thought Harry as he regarded the front of the envelope [which was covered in them except for a small space where she had squeezed in his address].

The happiness drained slightly as Harry realized he'd have to actually ask his uncle if he could go. Maybe Aunt Petunia would be a bit more receptive.

His Aunt was in the kitchen, putting the dishes away. She frowned when she saw him standing at the counter.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've been invited to a friend's house for the rest of the summer," Harry said, thinking that a sports game would make it less likely that she'd say yes. "Can I go?"

Aunt Petunia seemed to war momentarily with herself, as Vernon had done earlier. Letting Harry go would make him happy, but it would also mean that he'd be out of the house two weeks earlier than the Dursleys had hoped. "Fine," she snapped. "But we're not driving you anywhere-tell these people that they've got to come pick you up."

Elated, Harry nodded and ran back up to his room. He hadn't even needed to use the threat of writing to Sirius to get them to agree!

Hedwig was back, sitting regally on top of her cage, and clicking her beak in an annoyed fashion. Harry had only a second to wonder why before something collided with his head.

"Ow!" Harry looked up. A minute owl, small enough that it could probably fit into the palm of his hand, was flying excitedly around his room. It had also dropped a letter at his feet, which he hurried to pick up. It was from Ron.

_Harry-_

_DAD GOT THE TICKETS-Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway._

Pig?

Harry glanced up at the owl again. It looked the least like a pig than any owl he'd seen.

Maybe he couldn't read Ron's writing.

_We're coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway._

_Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you._

_See you soon_

_-Ron_

The owl zoomed low over Harry's head again, presumably with pride at having delivered the letter to the right person. "Alright, calm down!" Harry told it. "Stay still, I need you to deliver my reply!"

Harry found a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and hurriedly wrote out his reply;

_It's okay, the Muggles say I can come. Can't wait, see you five o'clock tomorrow._

He folded it up after blowing on the ink and tied it to the small owl's leg. It was very difficult-the owl kept hopping around in excitement. The moment he had it tied it was whisked out of his hands as the tiny thing practically leaped off the cage and flew out the window.

Harry was so happy at the prospect of the match that last night's odd dream didn't even occur to him.

* * *

**Please read and review! I'd like to know what you guys think. No flames welcome, but if one does show up it will be used to power the forges of my imagination.  
**


	3. The Vanishing Point

**Chapter 3 at last! I don't know if many people were waiting for this, but here it is anyway. We'll get a little closer to the action here, but not quite to the tipping point. Originally there was a bit of a cliffhanger, but I didn't really like the way the chapter turned out and so I've basically rewritten it.  
**

**Thank you to the one person who did review, and for the actual review you left. It was very constructive.  
**

**FYI, I will be taking a short break from writing as I'll be on vacation and I don't know if I'll have an opportunity to log on to fanfiction.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Everything else is indeed mine [do not steal].**

* * *

Harry inhaled sharply as he woke up, wondering what had caused him to wake so suddenly. He was sure he hadn't had another dream like last night's-to be sure, he put a hand to his scar, but it wasn't even tingling. He let his hand fall away.

He stayed lying down in bed for now, trying to salvage the dream. He could remember only fragments, and there was a remaining sense of urgency, as if while dreaming he'd been doing something incredibly important.

_A man, wearing plain red robes with gold accents along the hem, was shouting as he waved a hand at a table where green sparks and fog overflowed from a small beaker. _

Yes, that had been part of it. The man wasn't making a potion, he'd been saying something else...but whatever Harry did, he couldn't remember what the man had said.

There had been something else, a glimpse of books left open and practically spilling over the edge of the table. There had been some sort of picture in one of them, he was sure. But what it had been of, he couldn't say.

Harry gave up and sat up in his bed, seeing that it was very early in the morning-the sun was only just rising, leaving a pale square of light on the door from his window.

He wondered why he always had such strange dreams. When he was younger, he'd blamed it all on being a wizard - not that it was a bad thing - and left it at that, thinking they must all be memories of something he'd seen when he was younger. Unlike the flying motorcycle dream, however, or the nightmare of Lord Voldemort, Harry was sure he'd never seen anyone performing wandless magic, or wearing such bright red robes. They might have been a pair of Dumbledore's robes, except he'd never seen the Headmaster wearing red. Or any sort of House color, which Harry assumed was to try not to show any favoritism. Harry wondered what House the headmaster had been in, and then shook his head, realizing he'd gone off topic.

Breakfast would be in a couple hours, meaning he'd have a little time to himself before he had to go downstairs for more pathetically small portions of healthy food. Harry's aunt seemed to think that Dudley would be more receptive to the new diet as long as he was still getting bigger portions than Harry.

A tap on the window startled Harry, until he realized that it was just Hedwig back from her nightly hunt. He got up and pushed the window open.

"Hey, Hedwig. Did you have fun?" He petted her gently and carried her over to her cage. Hedwig hopped on top of it and looked at him reproachfully-her food dish was empty.

"Sorry!" Harry quickly filled it from the bag he kept in his desk drawer. He'd learned quickly to buy a bunch of large bags every year at Diagon Alley, to last him through the summer, otherwise he'd have to share - there was no way the Dursleys would be willing to drive him down to London for owl food.

With the clock by his bed reading only five thirty and Hedwig tired from her night out, Harry had nothing with which to occupy his time. It was looking to be a long day already.

Ron wouldn't be here until Sunday, which was the day after tomorrow, and so Harry had two more days of the Dursleys to endure before he could see the Cup. The thought of watching an actual, professional game of Quidditch was immensely exciting, especially a game as important as this! He wondered why England wasn't playing, if the Cup was being hosted here. Maybe it was in Ireland-wizards certainly seemed to consider the country as part of theirs, despite the Muggle world having acknowledge its independence ages ago.

Harry wondered if the wizarding world even paid attention to the Muggle one. He knew that they'd probably been involved in World War two, but he doubted the pureblood majority would approve of helping out Muggles.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts by a sound which slipped through the open window. It was faint, as if coming from far away, but it was definitely some sort of instrument being played. Whatever it was, Harry had never heard an instrument that sounded quite like that. He thought it sounded a bit like the flute Hagrid had given him in his first year - owlish and nearly mistakable for a whistle, if you couldn't hear it very well.

He pulled his head back in and shut the window. No use wasting time trying to figure out where it was coming from.

* * *

In the time after Harry had been allowed to go to the World Cup, the Dursleys had somehow gained an even greater dislike of him. Uncle Vernon stopped talking to him altogether, and instead adopted the manner he'd taken after Harry had come back from Diagon Alley for the first time - he pretended he wasn't there. It wasn't as bad as shouting, so Harry counted that as a good thing.

Aunt Petunia's interaction with him was limited to handing him his list of chores and telling him to come in when she wanted him to be done. That, and handing him food during dinner, which was the only meal everyone sat down together for. For the other two meals, Harry would get himself something.

Friday passed in a heat haze, which was lucky for Harry. It meant he could stay in his room all day and no one cared, since the Dursleys would be too busy fanning themselves downstairs.

Saturday was a little less hot, meaning Harry had to go out and do his chores anyway. He finished them in a record time, hurrying to get out of the sun. Aunt Petunia, of course, had not offered him any sunscreen, and Harry had to use another shirt to protect the back of his neck. If he'd sunburned, the Weasleys would have a lot of questions.

Sunday mostly passed in nervous anticipation. The Durlseys had dressed up a little around three o'clock, in preparations for the guests, and Uncle Vernon spoke to Harry for the first time in three days.

"Boy! How are they getting here, anyway? The normal way, I assume."

Harry was struck with a sense of dread as he realized that he had no idea how the Weasleys were coming to get him.

"Er...I think so?" He knew that Arthur Weasley knew how to drive, but he also knew that their car was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest and therefore not drivable. He briefly had to choke down the urge to laugh as he realized that he and Ron had never told anyone what had happened to the car.

Uncle Vernon didn't seem pleased with his response, and sat down huffily. It was already five o'clock, and Harry was beginning to wonder if the Weasleys would be late.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then half an hour until it was nearly six. Harry could hear his aunt and uncle muttering to each other, probably thinking he couldn't hear.

"They're late, no sense of time probably..."

"Do they think they'll be invited to dinner if they show up late?"

The whispered conversation was interrupted with a thump as green flared out from behind the boards over the fireplace. There was a muffled voice from inside and then someone spoke.

"Harry? Are you there?" Relief flooded Harry. It was Mr. Weasley. He must have tried to get in by Floo.

"Harry? Ouch! No, Fred, go back, there's no room-"

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry crouched down by the fireplace; he heard a shushing noise. "It's Harry-you've got the right place, only the Dursleys have got the fireplace boarded up. They use a fake one."

"Really?" Mr. Weasley sounded delighted. "A fake fireplace? You don't say...does it run on elecktricky? I must see this-ouch, no George, you can't-ow!"

"What's going on?" There was another muffled voice that was definitely Ron. Fred and George had obviously come as well.

"The fireplace is boarded up-Harry, stand back, I'm going to clear the way."

Harry scrambled away from the fireplace. With a popping sound, the boards vanished, sending four redheads spilling over the carpet in the sitting room. Aunt Petunia shrieked, probably because they were getting ash everywhere.

"Alright, Harry?" asked Mr. Weasley, cleaning himself up with a wave of his wand and turning to do the same to the other three. "Had a good summer?"

"It was alright," said Harry, grinning. "Hello, Ron."

"Hey Harry," said Ron, looking around at the sitting room and staring at the pictures on the shelf. "Blimey! Is that your cousin?"

Harry's relatives looked, if possible, even more affronted.

"We'll go get your trunk," said Fred, brushing past Harry and George behind him. They, of course, knew exactly where his room was, the reason related to the Ford Anglia now making a home in the forest. George winked at him as he passed.

Everyone stood around a bit awkwardly in the sitting room, waiting for the twins to get back. Vernon and Petunia were maintaining a tight-lipped silence, furious at the presence of wizards in their house. _They were probably worried that the neighbors might see_, thought Harry, internally rolling his eyes.

Leaving had been even more awkward, when the Dursleys didn't say goodbye. Mr. Weasley appeared to still be mad over it when they Flooed back to the Burrow, but by that time Harry was halfway up to Ron's room.

It was excellent to be away from Privet Drive.

* * *

Harry rolled over sleepily, and for a moment forgot where he was, before seeing the Cannons poster on the wall. He blearily saw a pitch-black sky outside, and wondered what had woken him up.

The melody drifted into his ears. Harry sat bolt upright.

It was the same one he'd heard several days ago, the flute tune. As if in a dream, Harry stood up and put his shoes on. He had gone to sleep in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which combined with too-big trainers made for an odd outfit. He made his way downstairs, not noticing that the usually squeaky stairs didn't make a sound, despite him not trying to disguise his movement.

The door was silent as well, but the fields leading up to the woods near the Burrow were alive with noise, nighttime birds and other animals making background noise as Harry trekked across the grass. The woods loomed in front of him, but he fearlessly walked through the trees, almost sleepwalking as some other force put his feet on a path alongside a small stream which burbled and reflected shards of moonlight through the shadowy trees.

The source of the stream was a pond, not very big but dark and deep-looking. Harry stood at the edge of it, staring into the pond without really seeing it. There were not birds around here, and the pond was not disturbed by anything, and as Harry knelt down his eyes searched for the invisible bottom.

The tune was definitely coming from in there, and as Harry leaned closer to try and find its source the earth under his feet slid forwards and shifted, loosening from the area around it and falling into the pond. Harry slipped as well, windmilling his arms and for a split second he was suspended above the water, wondering _How the hell did I get here _before he fell in, splashing loudly in the dark forest.

It was deeper than he had expected.


End file.
